The skin crinkles away
a darker red than its innards, charred and blackened at spots,
smeared with smushed roasted garlic, glistening slightly in the oil,
the filtered light flush on the plates
Here: peppers, eggplant and artichoke hearts, grilled,
plump anchovies lying lazily in olive oil
Robiola, burrata, pecorino, and
prosciutto, mortadella, bread
Swirling, crisp white wine
Greek kalamatas from salty brine
Her lips curl up for
her to bite into the cured meat
Eyes affixed to the platter, fingers and forearms
Shhh, don’t worry, we
are in love

It’s essential. Like
A tambourine potato
Pop tarts on the sidebar,
flashes on flesh
Chanel channeling protest
Jessica, Janus,
And all the rest.

No matter.
We cannot afford lives that
turn aside, or
stop, or
are held in, or
retrospectify,
we go only, ever, forward
So says Sharon, and we will listen
Shhh, don’t worry, we –